Page 96 of Twisting Beauty

I crossed back to his table. “My liege.”

I set the cup in front of him with precise, deliberate care and stepped back with my hands folded, the picture of congeniality.

Lorcan’s gaze dropped to the cup. Then to the lid. Then back up to my face.

The corner of his mouth moved, not quite a smile, something calculating. He pressed the lid firmly back into place with one long finger, the snap of it audible. Then he lifted the cup and took a slow, deliberate sip without breaking eye contact with me over the rim.

Something hot and completely useless flared in my chest.

“Is that all?” I asked.

His mouth was still resting against the rim when the first cold drop landed on my shoulder. Then another.

Lorcan lowered the cup and glanced up at the sky with unhurried ease. The sky had gone the color of a bruise.

“Umbrella,” he said. “Now.”

Damn him. Of course he didn’t have his own damn umbrella.

I reached into my bag, found the strap, and yanked it free. I held the handle out toward him.

He didn’t take it. He looked at it, then at me. “You can hold it.”

I bit back a scowl as I clicked it open above his head.

The rain arrived all at once, pattering across the cobblestones in a gray sheet.

Students around us scrambled for bags and jackets. Rafe swore as he rummaged for something to shield his head. Breezy upended his chips.

Within ten seconds, my shoulders were soaked through. Within twenty, water had found the gap at my collar and was tracking cold lines down my spine.

Lorcan turned back to his friends, all huddled under their own version of shade now. He didn’t so much as glance at me while I stood beside him in the rain like a very furious coat stand.

I stood there, glaring at a fixed point above his head and breathing through my nose, the weight of the surrounding students’ eyes pressing against my skin, their laughter cutting into me. Poor little Rua was so obsessed she was holding an umbrella open for Lorcan.

The humiliation burned so hot under my skin I could barely breathe around it.

Nuala had retreated to Finn’s side where he was holding an umbrella over them both. Her eyes were on me, concern pulling her brows together. She started to rise.

Finn’s arm went around her and he drew her into his lap, his mouth close to her ear. Whatever he said made her stay put, though her eyes didn’t leave me.

“Jesus, Lorc.” Breezy had produced a jacket and was wearing it over his head, peering at the umbrella with naked envy. “I ask girls for favors and they usually tell me to get fucked.”

“She probably still would.” Rafe’s gaze moved between me and Lorcan with the sharp, entertained attention of someone watching a match. “He just asked like she didn’t have a choice.”

Lorcan said nothing. He finished his coffee.

At the next table over, Aoife sat in the shade with her shoulders pulled in against the rain. Her gaze moved from Lorcan’s dry coat to my soaked sleeves to the umbrella in my white-knuckled hand. Whatever conclusion she reached thinned her mouth into a line.

Finally, the bell sounded.

The courtyard began to empty in a tide of wet jackets and sloshing runners. Lorcan stood, unhurried, and waved at his books. His bag. His packet of cigarettes and lighter.

“Carry them.”

I looked at the books. Why the little⁠—

Awkwardly with one hand, I stooped to pick them up in front of everyone.